Premer Doralin sat at the long table in the dining room of Temiker’s schoolhouse in Alamar. It was one of the few buildings in the city that had somehow managed to withstand the bombardment unscathed. General Valatosa stood before the premer, looking rather uncomfortable.
“All I know is that the report was from a mage spy that Clarvoy managed to insert into one of my armies,” scowled the premer. “If it wasn’t so obvious that the mage had died before finishing his report, I would be hunting for him right now.”
“You should avoid saying such things,” advised the general. “I know how you feel about the mages, but they do have a voice that reaches to the Emperor. It is unwise to vocalize your feelings about them.”
“Your warning has been noted,” sighed Doralin. “Valatosa, I need your help. These Sakovans are a wily bunch, and the other generals do not recognize that.”
“Wily?” frowned the general. “In what way?”
“In every way possible,” replied the premer. “Do you think it is purely accidental that there is not a scrap of food in this entire city, yet there are stockpiles of ale? I should be pushing towards Breele to keep the Sakovans off balance; instead I have a city full of drunken soldiers. This is no accident. The Sakovans have planned well for this invasion.”
“The ale is a problem,” agreed the general, “but I am not sure that I agree totally with your assessment. We took Alamar in one day. If the Sakovans had planned well, we would still be trying to get ashore.”
“Would we?” the premer asked skeptically. “I don’t think the Sakovans want to fight us in the city. I think they plan to lure us into remote terrain that only they have any knowledge of. Look at this map Clarvoy supplied. It shows exacting details of every city, village, and road in the entire country, but what do you see in the center of it all?”
“Nothing,” shrugged Valatosa. “It is all forest. What is there to chart?”
“How about individual mountain passes?” prompted the premer. “Rivers? Lakes? Where is this famed StarCity? There is nothing in the center of this map.”
“Over the past few years,” responded General Valatosa, “when it was clear what sector I would be assigned to, I made a point of reading everything I could about Omunga, as the country was called at that time. It consisted only of the coastal cities. The interior of the country was a void, as it is on this map. It was known as the Sakova, but no one dared to enter it. Omungans who tried to were never heard from again. I can well expect the same held true for Clarvoy’s spies. I am troubled somewhat by a lack of geographic features, but I think we can overcome that deficit.”
“We have read the same reports,” replied Premer Doralin, “but I do not share your optimism. I know when I am being lured into a trap, yet I truly have no say in the matter. The Sakovans have retreated into their heartland. We must follow them.”
“Agreed,” nodded the general. “What help is it that you require from me?”
“I want your army to be more than the spearhead,” answered the premer. “I want your men to be my eyes and ears within the other armies.”
“That is highly irregular,” frowned the general. “My men are not trained to spy on others. They are elite warriors.”
“Understood,” sighed Doralin. “I am not asking for spies. I am asking that they merely let me know what is happening in a general sense. Take this ale problem for example. I noticed that only your men refused to imbibe in the free ale this evening.”
“I would not tolerate it,” frowned General Valatosa. “My men know that.”
“Exactly,” nodded Doralin. “And if I had known about the problem early enough, I could have prevented the other armies from indulging. That is the type of information that I am looking for. Have your men be alert for these wily tricks of the Sakovans. Have them notify me when something is amiss. That is all that I am asking for.”
“I have no problem with that,” agreed the general. “I do question your pessimism in regards to the Sakovans though. I do not see them as being clever. The lack of details on the maps is logical. As for the ale, why would they cart it through the forests with them when they were forced to flee? I think the Sakovans hold no more surprises for us.”
Several blocks away from Temiker’s schoolhouse, where the premer and the general were talking, the Maritako River ran through the city of Alamar. At that very moment, in the dark of night, small boats of various designs were floating down the river and through the city. Were anyone to glance upon the boats, they would have appeared empty, but a closer inspection would have revealed Sakovan fishermen in the bottom of the vessels covered by dark tarps.
As the river carried the fishing boats into the sea, the fisherman rose from their concealment. They hoisted their sails only far enough to catch the gentle breeze required to propel the crafts to the large ships off the coast. The small boats scattered over a wide area and then, using signals to select their quarry, converged on a small fleet of behemoths that appeared undamaged.
The small boats tied off to the sterns of the behemoths, and the fisherman stealthily climbed aboard. In a slow and methodical manner, the fishermen silently murdered the crews. Even after they had control of the ships, they did not act with nervous hurriedness. They slowly and quietly raised the anchors of each of the ships, allowing the outgoing tide to carry the vessels away from Alamar. When the leviathans were well offshore, the sails were raised on the new Sakovan fleet. In a tight formation, the ten ships headed north without the Motangans being alerted.
“For fishermen,” chuckled Temiker, “your men make great thieves. Ten ships are far more than we thought was possible.”
“That is what made it possible,” grinned Chargo as he pointed to the barrel of ale. The whole fleet was drunk. We could have taken every ship if we had more men.”
“As most thieves eventually find out,” frowned Temiker, “greed is a killer. If an alarm had been given, you would have found out that even drunken mages can cast spells. I would assume that holds true for archers as well, but I was never good with a bow. What will you do with the fishing boats that we are towing? It will be hard to appear Motangan with them being towed.”
“There is a cove up the coast a ways,” answered Chargo. “We will stop and anchor them there. Hopefully they will last through the war so that the fisherman can earn a living when this is all over.”
“So you expect the Sakovans to win this war?” asked Temiker. “The odds are against it.”
“I have gone against the odds before,” shrugged Chargo. “If I am wrong, we will all be dead, and the fishermen won’t care about their boats, but I expect to be around. Kaltara is strong.”
“You believe in Kaltara?” asked Temiker. “You were an Omungan, weren’t you?”
“I was Omungan,” nodded Chargo. “I had the pleasure of being on the same ship with the Star of Sakova the day she accepted Duran’s surrender. That day changed my life. How can I not believe in a God that can do miracles? Because that is exactly what Kaltara has enabled Lyra to do. I had a long talk with her on that voyage. My faith has not faltered since.”
“She is a remarkable woman, my niece,” smiled the old mage. “I should notify her of our success. Sometimes she worries too much.”
* * *
“Ten?” gasped Emperor Marak as he stood on the roof of the palace in Khadoratung. “Your people are incredible, Lyra. We can make great use of those ships.”
“There is more,” continued the Star of Sakova. “They found a skimmer floating in the ocean. In fact, they almost ran over it. There were two bodies in it. One of them was alive, a fisherman named Formone. Temiker is doing what he can for the man right now, but we aren’t sure if he will live.”
“None of the skimmers returned,” frowned the Emperor. “Is that correct?”
“That is correct,” answered Lyra. “I think this man may have the information about what went wrong.”
“I want to talk to him,” decided the Torak. “Where are the ships now?”
“On their way to Duran,” replied Lyra. “They are going to steal the supplies the Motangans have left there.”
“There are Motangan soldiers in Duran,” warned Marak.
“I thought you were not sure,” responded Lyra.
“I had Myka fly over again on the way to Changragar,” the Torak said. “It was not a lot of soldiers, but even a single corte is far too many for fishermen to go up against. They must not enter Duran.”
“Temiker is with them,” advised Lyra. “His magic should help.”
“It would,” replied the Torak, “except that Temiker is on one of the ships. They most certainly will have a mage in Duran who knows how to use an air tunnel. Let’s not let Vand know that we have his ships.”
“And let him keep the supplies?” frowned the Star of Sakova. “I don’t think so. Besides, those fishermen would not accept my orders to turn back. In fact, I am quite sure that Temiker would suddenly have trouble hearing my orders.”
“I can easily imagine that,” chuckled the Torak. “Alright, I will go there in the morning with Myka. We will clear the city before the ships arrive.”
“By yourself?” scowled Lyra. “That is just what I expected from you. I am supposed to hide myself so that I don’t get hurt, but you are going to fly in on your magic dragon and take on sixty men by yourself? I don’t think so.”
“Myka cannot carry a corte of soldiers on her back,” sighed Marak. “There is no land approach to the city, and the only ships we have in the area are the ones we don’t want them to know about. What do you expect me to do?”
“I expect you to come to Breele and pick me up,” answered Lyra. “I am not without capabilities of my own. We can split the Motangan soldiers between us. It will be safer that way.”
There was a long silence in the conversation and then Marak chuckled.
“It will be a three way split,” he announced. “I am sure that Myka will want to claim her third.”
“Then you will come to get me?” Lyra asked with astonishment.
“I left Myka at Changragar,” nodded the Torak. “I will be in Breele before sunrise. Place four torches in a square to mark a clear spot for the dragon to land.”
“Done,” Lyra replied excitedly. “I will let Temiker know what we are planning.”
Marak felt the air tunnel being dropped, and he turned to go inside. He found Fisher standing a few paces away.
“You have been working on your stride,” commented the Torak. “I did not hear you approach this time.”
“I have been more conscious of it,” smiled Fisher. “I have also been thinking a lot about your news this evening.”
“About Clarvoy coming to Khadora?” asked Marak.
“Yes,” nodded Fisher. “I want to get him.”
“I can well imagine that,” frowned the Torak, “but I advise you not to become obsessed with him. It will lead you to make mistakes, and mistakes can be deadly.”
“I will be careful,” promised Fisher, “but I wanted to ask a favor. You mentioned once that Lord Chenowith reviewed his father’s private papers. I understand that Emperor Bagora was noted for keeping extensive journals about every detail of his life. I would like to see those papers.”
“Inconceivable,” Marak shook his head. “Lord Chenowith felt guilty reviewing the papers, and he was Bagora’s son. He would never permit anyone else to see them. What could you possible want with those papers anyway?”
“Emperor Bagora was also noted for having an extensive network of spies,” answered Fisher. “I must know who they are.”
“Why?” puzzled the Torak.
“Few spies are ideological,” explained Fisher. “Most of them perform services for the gold. Oh, I can imagine that the Emperor had a fair number of spies who worked for him because they believed in him, but others saw only the money.”
“And what is the importance of this?” asked Emperor Marak.
“A spy that works for gold,” explained Fisher, “can be bought by many masters. I think that is how Clarvoy built his spy network. I certainly don’t think that many Khadorans would serve Vand for his ideology.”
“But Clarvoy could bring in people from Motanga,” Marak pointed out.
“True,” agree Fisher, “and no doubt he did, but those people will have no history in Khadora. Their access to really valuable information would be extremely limited. Clarvoy gets his really good information from professional spies, people who have been a part of Khadora all of their lives. These people sell their information for gold, and I believe that Emperor Bagora would have ferreted out every single one of them.”
“So Clarvoy and Bagora were using the same spies,” mused the Torak. “Your reasoning is sound, Fisher, but it leads nowhere. I would not even ask Lord Chenowith to allow you access to the journals. I personally know the anguish his own access has caused in his mind. He would not allow it. He would rather die than have his father’s papers read, and Khadora cannot afford to lose him. I cannot afford to lose him.”
“Even for a chance at Clarvoy?” frowned Fisher.
“Even for that,” nodded Marak. “I intend to defeat Vand with or without Clarvoy. I can only do that with the clans of Khadora united behind me. Lord Chenowith has made that possible in the past, and he continues to make it possible now. I could not ask that of him.”
“I understand,” Fisher nodded with defeat.
“Do you?” smiled Marak. “Fisher, I believe in you. Perhaps I believe in you more than you believe in yourself. I cannot ask of Lord Chenowith what you request of me, but you are resourceful. I have full confidence that you will snare Clarvoy.”
Fisher brightened at the Emperor’s words of encouragement. He smiled at the Torak and retreated from the roof of the palace.
* * *
The Walkan clan of Khadora had one of the largest estates in the Imperial Valley. It was one of the ancient founding clans of Khadora and had produced some of the country’s most notable lords. One of those notable lords was the late Emperor Bagora. The Walkan clan also had one of Khadora’s largest armies whose uniforms were red and blue, not too different from the red and black of the Ronan clan, seeing as the blue used by the Walkan clan was a deep, dark blue. The enormity of the Walkan army also allowed for officers that were not familiar with every single soldier on the estate.
As fate would have it, Fisher just happened to own a Ronan clan uniform that he had worn on the day Emperor Mirakotto and Lord Garic had mysteriously died. He now wore that red and black uniform again as he moved through the fields of the Walkan estate.
Fisher had been to the Walkan estate numerous times, posing as a merchant. He knew the layout of the mansion fairly well. In fact, he had managed over the years to gain entry to just about every major room in the mansion. Of course, there was one room that he was never allowed to enter. It was through no great feat of intelligence that Fisher knew his destination within the mansion. The question was how to enter the forbidden room without being caught. If he were apprehended, Lord Chenowith would be extremely irate. He would demand justice from either the new court system or from Emperor Marak. Either way, the Torak would find out, and Marak would be forced to punish Fisher. The spy knew that the Emperor would have to demand an execution in order to salve Lord Chenowith’s fury.
Dying to save Khadora did not trouble Fisher. He already assumed that he was near the end of his days, and he believed in the cause he was fighting for. What troubled the spy was the impact that his death would have on Marak. The Torak would undoubtedly blame himself for Fisher’s death, and that Fisher could not allow. To alleviate the problem, Fisher had brought poison with him. He had vowed to swallow that poison if he was captured during this mission. He was confident that he would not be recognized by Lord Chenowith or anyone else on the estate. His body would be buried, and Marak would never hear of it.
Fisher exited the field and walked along the path that led to the mansion. The moon was bright, but the grounds of the estate were quiet. For a large clan, the army presence on the estate at night was minimal. Of course, the current political climate in Khadora did not require a large security force for protection from your neighbors, but Fisher had expected to see more soldiers. The lack of patrols began to disturb him as he neared the mansion.
When Fisher rounded the rear of the mansion, he stopped and stared at the reason for the lack of patrols. The grounds were a mess. Cut trees dotted the landscape, and dozens of new wooden huts were in various stages of completion. At first Fisher was confused, but then he remembered hearing about the Sakovan resettlement program. Evidently, Lord Chenowith had his army working all day to create homes for the Sakovans. His appreciation for the man soared.
“Kind of amazing isn’t it?” came the female voice behind him.
Fisher spun and saw a beautiful young woman leaning out of a window of the mansion.
“It is amazing,” nodded Fisher. “It is heartwarming to know that Khadora has such a lord. When will the Sakovans arrive?”
“Not sure,” replied the woman. “Lord Chenowith wants the huts completed as soon as possible in case the war breaks out in Khadora. You guys are great for the way you are working. I am surprised to find you still awake after working all day. How do you do it?”
“I didn’t work on it today,” shrugged Fisher. “I am just in from the city.”
“Oh,” smiled the woman. “Has my father come home?”
Fisher frowned as he tried to figure out what the woman was talking about. He wanted to ask who her father was, but he didn’t dare. Her father could be an important officer, or even the seneschal, which any Walkan soldier would recognize.
“I came alone,” he finally answered.
“Oh,” frowned the woman. “Since he was elected to the Lords’ Council, I hardly get to see him any more.”
Fisher swallowed hard as he realized that he was talking to Lord Chenowith’s daughter, but he also realized that Lord Chenowith was not in residence.
“Well, I should be moving along,” Fisher said anxiously.
“Do you want some tea?” asked the woman. “I don’t seem to be able to sleep tonight, and someone to talk to would be nice.”
Fisher could not refuse. To do so would be an insult to the lord’s family. He nodded his head, and the woman smiled.
“I will unlock the back door for you,” offered the woman just before she disappeared.
Fisher debated making a run for it, but he really wanted the information from Bagora’s journal, and he would never get another chance. He walked to the rear door of the mansion and entered. Thankfully, the woman had only lit one torch in the kitchen, so the lighting remained dim enough for her to confuse the uniform with a Walkan one. The woman set two cups of tea on the table and settled into one of the chairs. Fisher slid into the other chair and smiled.
“You are a quiet one, aren’t you?” smiled the woman. “What is your name?”
“Some of my friends call me Scarab,” shrugged Fisher.
“And I thought Elly was a bad name,” chuckled the woman. “Where did you get a name like Scarab?”
“Elly is a fine name,” smiled Fisher. “How could you think it is bad?”
“Do you really think so?” she asked.
“I do,” smiled Fisher as he rose. “I have to attend to something right away. I guess this tea filled me up. Will you wait here for me?”
“Sure,” smiled Elly. “I will make some fresh tea. This pot is a little stale.”
“That’s great,” smiled Fisher as he slipped out of the kitchen.
He walked to the back door of the mansion and opened and closed it without passing through it. He quietly moved along the corridor until he came to Bagora’s room. The door was locked. He swiftly removed a strip of metal from his belt and worked the lock. The click sounded tremendously loud in the silence of the mansion. He opened the door and slipped into the room and closed the door.
He dared not light a torch in the room, but the moon was just past full, and moonlight flooded in the window. He walked to a corner of the room where several metal boxes were placed in a row. He saw one that had been broken open and immediately moved towards it. He opened the box and peered at the papers inside. There were more than he had anticipated. Knowing that he did not have time to find the proper papers, Fisher grabbed them all and put them in his pack. He closed the box and moved swiftly to the door. He slowly opened the door and eased into the corridor. Fisher moved to the back door of the mansion and opened and closed it again. He smiled as he walked into the kitchen and sat down.
“I thought you got lost,” commented Elly. “Here is a fresh cup of tea.”
“Thank you,” smiled Fisher. “I probably should be getting to bed soon. Won’t the tea keep you awake?”
“Not really,” shrugged Elly, “but I should go to bed soon, too. Father probably wouldn’t like to see me up this late. He worries that I will get sick. You know how fathers can be sometimes, even if you are old enough to marry.”
“I sure do,” Fisher lied. “I enjoyed talking to you. Maybe I will sneak back some night and do it again.”
“That would be fun,” grinned Elly. “Come earlier next time.”
Elly let Fisher out the back door and then locked it. He was just about to round the corner of the mansion when he heard the horses riding in from the road beyond the estate.
“It sounds like father has arrived,” Elly smiled as she stuck her head out of the window. “Good night, Scarab.”
“Good night, Elly,” smiled Fisher.
The spy moved around the corner of the mansion and hugged the building, hoping that none of the soldiers escorting the lord would come around to the rear of the mansion. He remained frozen for what seemed an eternity, but the estate finally returned to silence. Fisher walked calmly in the open until he reached the fields. Once he was concealed, he ran as if his life depended upon his speed.